Chapter 6
Six
Harry did not worsen, but she also did not improve. The doctors came and went. She moped. So much time wasted on her body. Even if it didn’t need to be fed or rested or put on a chamber pot to remove excess water, this cursed vessel could still block her progress with illness. Such a hindrance.
She encouraged Mama Katie and Arabella to continue to go to balls and dinners and to receive calls. She told her stepmother that Arabella’s first Season shouldn’t be ruined by Harry’s own poor health.
This was a brilliant stroke. She had observed that, unaccountably, Arabella took enjoyment from social activities.
Harry now appeared unselfish and caring for her sister, which was something her stepmother always encouraged.
Meanwhile, Harry could send Smythe to bed early in the evening and get in a full night of work.
Of course, she did not have all her books and papers, just the few she had managed to sneak out of her room one night and hide under her bed. She noted there was sometimes a minor deterioration in her condition after a night of work, but perhaps that was the necessary price she must pay.
But, one afternoon, Harry was where she shouldn’t be.
She had sent Smythe out for ink so she could leave her bed and go to her room and fetch another book.
However, in the upstairs corridor, Harry had been surprised to see Arabella coming out of her own bedchamber, talking to her own lady’s maid.
Harry had been forced to nip down the main staircase before Arabella could spot her.
She was hoping she might run round to the back staircase and get back to her bedchamber without anyone raising an alarm.
But there was a knock and a bell at the front door just as Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. She had only seconds before Chelsom would appear. She darted out of the front hall and into the nearest drawing room.
She felt quite dizzy. Her breath was short.
Voices. The butler Chelsom spoke. A man’s voice. A caller. Her stepmother’s contralto.
Blast.
Harry scrabbled for a velvet curtain and covered herself with it. Good thing she was so thin; it made hiding easy. She tried to quiet her panting.
The voices were very clear now. She heard a man’s laugh.
“Lord Drake, you are so kind to call. And is Jamie—I mean, his lordship— That is to say, I hope Lord Daventry is well.”
“He is, Mrs. Lovelock. But he is taken up with some family business this afternoon.”
Harry shivered. It was cold by the window in just her nightdress and dressing gown.
Where was her left slipper? She might have left it on the stairs.
What was it about the man’s laugh? The closeness of the voices meant they were in this very drawing room now.
Her stepmother was asking for some coffee to be brought.
“For coffee is your preference, is it not, Lord Drake?”
Coffee was Harry’s preference, too. Harry risked a look around the curtain. The man was tall. Dark hair. His laugh sounded familiar. His face did not. Well, of course, a face could not sound familiar, Harry told herself.
The man moved so his body was angled towards Harry’s curtain.
She saw a well-muscled thigh that stretched the leather of the man’s breeches.
It was the man whose leg had served as her pillow at Lady Huxley’s ball! In the intervening weeks, he must have seen a surgeon and had his tumor excised, so that was good. He stood and walked with no difficulty, so he must have healed quickly.
She was glad. She had mused on him and his thigh, while lying ill in her bed, wishing for a better pillow.
She didn’t know why, but she was inordinately fond of that thigh.
How pleasing to look on it now. She might like to put her head on it again.
How that might happen, she had no idea. She would have to think on it.
It was too bad she was too far away from him to discover if he still emanated that sweet, peppery scent that wasn’t pepper. That comforting and cozy smell.
But now she knew the man with the thigh was named Lord Drake, and he knew her stepmother. How curious. Except that her stepmother knew everyone. At least, she knew everyone whom Harry knew.
Oh, she was very cold. Was the curtain trembling with her shivering? Would she be revealed? She would be in a great deal of trouble.
The coffee came, and Harry heard polite murmuring over cups and saucers. And then his voice, quite low.
“May I speak to you alone, Mrs. Lovelock?”
A little laugh from her stepmother. “We are alone, Lord Drake.”
“It is a matter of utmost delicacy, Mrs. Lovelock. Would you permit me to close the door? I would not want to be indiscreet.”
Her stepmother’s words were clipped. “Yes, my lord.”
Harry could hear the man crossing the room and closing the drawing room door and returning.
“What does this concern, Lord Drake?”
“I would be very pleased if you would call me Thomas.”
Harry shifted her weight off her cold foot. What was happening?
“In return, I wonder if I might have the pleasure of one day calling you the Countess Drake.”
There was a silence and then Harry heard the unmistakable peals of her stepmother’s laughter.
Thomas thought he had made a rather nice proposal. Clever and smooth, was he not? He had reminded her that if she were to marry him, she would receive a title and all the respect that came with it. He waited to hear her answer.
He was rather perturbed by Mrs. Lovelock’s laughter. Surely, even if she wasn’t interested in him and his title, she would demur and say she had to think. Or she would say she was promised to another. Or she was still mourning her husband.
He stood and bowed.
“Oh, Lord Drake, please do sit down and have some coffee. You compliment me too much, I am sure.” Catherine just barely managed to control her laughter.
He stayed standing. “Mrs. Lovelock, you must forgive me if I have offended you—”
“No, nonsense, of course not. I am flattered. Forgive me. I just . . . I have made a foolish error, a weak and foolish error, and I regret it.” He saw now that Catherine was disconcerted and the laughter may have been a way to cover that.
She bit her lip. “It’s just that I did not expect to hear a proposal of marriage. And certainly not from an earl. And from such a good-looking young man. Please sit down and let’s talk frankly.”
He sat. This was promising. She might still accept.
“I am a most fortunate woman, Lord Drake. I came from nothing. Some might say I came from less than nothing. But I found a way to have a profession and my own money in a world run by men. Men who seemed determined to let coarseness rule the day. And then when I was twenty-eight, when my most valuable asset, my beauty, was fading, I found a very surprising thing.”
She rearranged her skirts around her on the sofa and stirred her coffee. Catherine had returned to being as self-possessed as always.
“I found love,” she said. “I know the world thinks I married my husband because he was a wealthy banker and he married me out of lust. The latter might have been partially true for my husband, at least initially. I cannot say. But for the former—he could have been a tinker for all I cared. He was everything a man should be. True and diligent and careful with me and his children. He was the most solicitous and tenderhearted of men. I came to love him, and he came to love me. I’m just grateful my beauty brought him to me. ”
Thomas noted a softness had crept into her eyes and her voice had gentled as she spoke of her deceased husband.
“I am not so vain as to think you pursue me for the same reason my husband did. I know what I am. A well-preserved and wealthy widow. You’re a young man who should be looking at young women. You’re not interested in me. You’re interested in my money.”
Thomas started to protest, but Catherine cut him off with a gesture.
“You should know a peculiarity in my husband’s will states that upon my remarriage, my fortune will revert to Edward’s daughters. My husband wanted me to be comfortable and happy, but he felt I could never be so if I married a fortune-hunter. Thus, he made this arrangement to keep me safe.”
His courtship of Catherine Lovelock had been all for naught.
“I have been foolish to encourage your attentions. I did so enjoy your and Jamie’s, uh .
. . Lord Daventry’s calls. I was flattered to have handsome young men spend time with me.
Please know I’m sorry for wasting your time.
I should have made it clear to you immediately that I was not the answer to your difficulties.
It was very wrong of me to delay. As I said, a weak and foolish error.
” She grimaced. “Your hasty proposal shows you are likely under some financial strain. But there are many wealthy young ladies in London, Lord Drake. I encourage you to find one whom you might love. Alternatively, if you feel yourself incapable of love, at least find a girl who might love you. And marry her and do your best not to break her heart.”
Thomas stood again, a lead weight of doom in his stomach. He bowed and said stiffly, “I am indebted to you for your advice, Mrs. Lovelock.”
Catherine reached out and clasped his hand.
“I presume to understand you, Thomas. We are more alike than you know. Since this may be the last time we talk as intimates and friends, let me speak as the farm girl I was and maybe always will be. You are a bull. A restless, angry, hungry bull. You are searching for something. You think it is a cow. No. No.” She shook her head impatiently.
“You think it is many cows. You’re wrong.
You should be looking for a tree. A lovely, graceful, immovable tree with strong, deep roots and full, leafy branches so you can lie in the shade on a hot day and be sheltered from the storms. So you can rest. Then you’ll be happy. ”